


For a Moment, Happiness

by Make_It_Worse



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Destiny, Doomed Relationship, F/M, Falling In Love, Fate, Feelings Realization, Friends to Lovers, Heartbreak, Hurt, Hurt No Comfort, Lovers to Friends, M/M, Tragic Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-03
Updated: 2020-03-03
Packaged: 2021-02-28 01:40:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,862
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22995598
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Make_It_Worse/pseuds/Make_It_Worse
Summary: “You,” Jaskier’s hand gestures at Geralt’s boot as if this dirt-besmirched part represents the whole of him. “You’ve seen more sunsets wax into sunrises than I could ever dream.”This earns him a throatyhmmfor his efforts.Jaskier throws his hands to the sky in animated dudgeon, “It will hurt, Geralt. What we are doing. If we cross the line—““I know,” Geralt finally gives voice to his part of the conversation. Jaskier wonders if it would be better for the both of them if Geralt remained silent.__This idea wouldn't leave me be. Sorry in advance for any emotions or feels.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg
Comments: 33
Kudos: 141





	For a Moment, Happiness

“You,” Jaskier’s hand gestures at Geralt’s boot as if this dirt-besmirched part represents the whole of him. “You’ve seen more sunsets wax into sunrises than I could ever dream.”

This earns him a throaty _hmm_ for his efforts. 

Jaskier throws his hands to the sky in animated dudgeon, “It will hurt, Geralt. What we are doing. If we cross the line—“

“I know,” Geralt finally gives voice to his part of the conversation. Jaskier wonders if it would be better for the both of them if Geralt remained silent. It was one thing to flirt and to pine without hope. It was another altogether to hear Geralt lend credibility to what Jaskier long-suspected but didn’t dare to consider a possibility.

Jaskier’s eyes drift closed in exquisite agony when Geralt catapults the conversation to its aching crux, “I know it will hurt. Life hurts. Life is fickle and unkind.”

The words bathe over Jaskier’s brow in a frantic warning he disregards. Geralt is looking at him as if he means to devour him, regardless of road weariness and its inescapable stench. For once, Jaskier’s clothes are in as bad of a state as Geralt’s, but he can’t quite bring himself to care. Months traversing mountains had eroded his wardrobe along with his ability to be bothered about it. It doesn’t matter what he is wearing. Geralt is still here, not running.

“And?” Jaskier prompts, laying the first bricks of his unmaking. 

“And,” Geralt responds to Jaskier’s call readily with little thought for the damage it will unleash in the years to come, “destiny has never done me any favors. She can wait.”

Geralt’s yellow eyes bore into Jaskier’s soul like he means to make a nest there and never leave, “I know what I want and it isn’t monarchy schemes or sorceresses.” Geralt lifts his hand toward Jaskier’s face slowly as if his proffered fingers might spook him.

Geralt’s fingertips trace over Jaskier’s eyebrow and down his cheek before coming to rest under his jaw. Jaskier’s heart flutters like a miner’s canary in a cage. He will fall before the one leading him does. Geralt tips Jaskier’s chin just shy of meeting his mouth. He’ll let Jaskier choose. At the first press of their lips, Jaskier knows he’s ruined for any other. 

For a moment, for an eternity, there is happiness.

—

“Was any of it real, Geralt?” Jaskier’s stance demands an answer for fear of fracturing if he goes without. Geralt is leaving. It’s a fact he knows to be true, but Geralt has left many times before. This time, though. This time, he’ll be leaving alone.

“Yes.” Geralt’s confirmation is worse than Jaskier could have anticipated. The nights spent wrapped up in each other beneath the stars, tucked into too-small inn cots, and, rarely, in fine beds hadn’t been a lie. Still, he can hear the ‘but’ Geralt is too kind to say.

But Ciri  
But Yen

They’d stretched their fragile moment of happiness to its limits and now it was rending easier than a monster under Geralt’s sword. He could drag it out, make it hurt worse than it already does, but he won’t. Even as Geralt crushes his heart, Jaskier can’t bring himself to be mean.

“I should probably stay behind for this trip,” the words come out of him flatly like an actor displeased with his part. He hadn’t been invited, he’d understood Geralt’s tone and meaning even if he’d used few words to deliver the news. He’ll spare Geralt a painful parting even if this goodbye feels more like _forever_ than _see you soon_.

He could tell himself he’s staying behind because he doesn’t fair well at sea. He could tell himself he’s staying behind because the Wild Hunt it dangerous. He could tell himself a lot of things but the truth refuses to be blanketed in comforting lies. He’s staying behind because he doesn’t want to witness the exact moment he loses the Witcher’s heart. Geralt may have defied destiny’s call for years, but she’s a patient mistress. She would have her way in the end.

Geralt sags in relief at the suggestion and the knife corkscrews so deeply into Jaskier’s chest, he’s sure it will never leave.

“Where should I look for you when I return?” Geralt resumes packing his bag as if Jaskier’s heart isn’t in splinters all around them. Jaskier looks away, turning his distraught gaze to the streets below.

The brothel is his only option, “I was thinking of finally doing something with the Rosemary and Thyme. Making it something for the arts. Something better than it was.” Jaskier’s gaze drops to his hands and a traitorous tear races down the slender bridge of his nose to splatter in his waiting palm. As if those hands had the power to change anything.

Geralt hums a sound of recognition, not bothering with words any longer. He’s already racing ahead to Skellige—and away from Jaskier.

“Hey,” Jaskier startles at Geralt’s hand on his forearm. “I _will_ come back.” Geralt’s touch is unbearable and wonderful. Jaskier wishes he could curl up with those familiar hands around him and sleep away the nightmare unfolding around him. Yennefer was back, Ciri was in danger, and Geralt had leapt to her side without hesitation.

Geralt says the words like a promise, but Jaskier knows he’s already lost his Witcher. Too many odds are stacked against him with far too many in the sorceress’ favor. Jaskier will age. He will have deeper wrinkles whereas Geralt will return unaltered with the possible exception of a few scars. A year’s time to Jaskier is precious; it’s a drop in the sea to Geralt. Jaskier can’t fight or conjure magic powerful enough to make King’s take notice. Jaskier didn’t help raise the child both Geralt and Yen would die for. The only thing Jaskier can offer is his love; he always knew it would fall short.

Time passes in a gelatinous blur. Each night spent alone in their bed is wretched hour upon hour. He buries his face in Geralt’s pillow until his scent fades just like Geralt’s love. Eventually, he can’t remember exactly how the Witcher smelled. He’s left with the vague impression of something earthy, masculine, and distinctly Geralt.

The letter takes him by surprise. The Great Sea this time of year is often lethal and not many missives from Skellige make the journey north. He reads it once, but the words slide off glassy eyes as his subconscious understands what Jaskier’s waking mind isn’t yet ready to see.

Eventually, he makes his way to the ledger book. It’s not his usual bookkeeping schedule, but his feet drag him there all the same.

Geralt is coming back. He will need a room.

He records two names on a line next to his finest suite.

Geralt is coming back and Jaskier’s bed will remain cold.

Work continues, as it must. Ink smudges at Jaskier’s wrists and at places on his cheekbones. Tears stain the pages, but this piece was never meant to be his magnum opus. It’s his heart laid bare and bleeding. Such sights are never pretty things. It is an elegy for a chapter of his life he’s not ready to close.

The first night he sings it, the patrons of the tavern do little more than stare. Still, they return the next night and the next to hear it, bringing along friends to listen to “the sad bard’s lament.” On the fourth night, he smells the gooseberries first like smoke ahead of a fire. The lilac comes next and it assaults his nostrils in a way Geralt’s scent never did—even when covered in muck and grime.

She’s lovely as all sorceresses are. She looks the same as Jaskier remembers right down to the haughty set of her chin. He imagines he must look quite different to her now. Everyone had noticed the change in him. Some said it was as if the light went out of his soul.

They weren’t quite right. The light wasn’t gone. It could never be gone. But it wasn’t the passionate roar that made his eyes gleam and his smile sparkle. It had dwindled to a candle’s flame. His love, badly battered and abused, could never be put out. Even so, it gutters to see Yen’s slim arm looped casually in the crook of Geralt’s elbow.

He doesn’t meet Geralt’s gaze even if he can feel those yellow eyes watching him. He doesn’t want to see how Geralt looks at him now without affection behind his regard.

He exhales hurt only to breathe agony back in, deep and slashing. His lute screams the opening notes as Jaskier’s lips part to do the same.

_When I see you again, I’ll greet you with a smile  
You won’t know how I hurt; I’ll spare you that scene  
I always knew buttercups weren’t your style  
But I didn’t know what loving you would mean_

_I have felt your softer touch  
I have washed in your waters and come away clean  
I always knew I wouldn’t be enough  
But I didn’t know what loving you would mean_

_I cradled your soul for a little  
Washed your brow and curled with you in sleep  
I always knew that you weren’t mine  
But I didn’t know what loving you would mean_

_We knew how this would hurt us  
That one day we’d wake from the dream  
We always knew how this would end  
But I wasn’t prepared for what losing you would mean_

_So when I see you again, I’ll greet you with a smile  
You won’t know how I hurt; I won’t let you see  
My heart will fracture to see you with another  
But I'll always love you in my memory_

His head is in his hands when Geralt comes to find him. He knew he would. He isn’t a fool.

Geralt’s hand on his shoulder is gentle even if his words slash at Jaskier like a whetted blade, “I can stay somewhere else if this is too hard.” Geralt’s voice isn’t unkind, but it lacks something.

He grows agitated by Jaskier’s persistent silence, “We both knew this would hurt in the end.” He lets Geralt stumble through his explanation in halting sentences. Words were never Geralt’s strong suit. Jaskier had always had more than enough for the two of them. Now he’s left with them swarming behind clenched teeth.

He doesn’t care about djinns and broken spells. The only thing Jaskier’s anguished heart can understand is that Geralt is in love and it’s not with him. Jaskier blinks and tears run down old tracks like a familiar song. He draws in a shaky breath around a sound that could be a laugh or a quiet scream.

“You’re right,” Jaskier says finally. “We knew it would hurt.” He reaches out to touch his one-time lover’s cheek. A familiar gesture now burdened by pain. His hand drops under the weight of Geralt’s quiet stillness.

He stares at the dirt on Geralt’s booted feet. The words are quiet but sharp enough to make a man bleed, “I just didn’t realize the only one it would hurt was me.”

**Author's Note:**

> I'm on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/WorseMake), but, really, I don't write about this pairing much. You will be a big disappoint.


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